


A Christmas Collection

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Gen, Hunt, Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: Tales of Narnian Christmases through the world's existence.
Kudos: 2





	A Christmas Collection

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the story isn’t mine, the season isn’t mine, even one of the two characters isn’t mine. And oh, I am glad these things belong to so many!

Some people believe that trees sleep through the winter. 

Ask a Dryad if this is true, and she’ll respond yes, for some. The saplings, their branches too slender to bear the softly falling glitter that builds into blankets, often fall asleep. A few foolish ones fall asleep far from their tree. Therefore in this season, the Centaurs bring their gazes down from the heavens to survey the forest floor, catching up the slender forms and bearing them to their homes. 

And sometimes, she’ll add, the middle-aged trees grow grumpy with the cold, and retreat within their wooden trunk till the rivers running underground grow warm, sending up through our roots the first rushing draughts that promise spring. Then those Dryads emerge, their tempers turned to laughter once again, and oh, how they love to wake!

The old rarely sleep during winter, but they are so still, so deep within their trees, that mortals with no roots think the old are sleeping. They are not. They are watching the white, white world, letting their wonder grow as deep as their roots.

She’d laugh then, as softly as a leaf’s fall, and her breath would catch. Even as mine is doing.

Because there is one night, the yearly night of magic and wind, when every Dryad wakes. 

The night of the hunt.

The night is announced a week beforehand, always to take place before the day of rest, and word spreads in breathless Dryad whispers to every corner of Narnia, my voice joining in a chorus. We pass it with a touch of our roots, the out-reached hand, and the words merrily rustling to any Narnians yet awake. “One week, one week, one week till the hunt!” 

And six days later, all through the night in the starlight before dawn, we wake every Dryad, from hoary old Oaks about to rest forever to the Sapling sleeping through his first winter. “Wake, wake, wake! The sun comes soon! The hunt! The hunt!” 

As the day creeps closer and the night falls away, our rustling ceases. We wait as still as we can, branches trembling with shivers of excitement. Often a Stag, Cherry, waits beside me, for the two of us hunt together. I throw my arm around his neck. He too is shivering, his dark eyes wide with excitement.

False dawn comes, the sky lightening from black to grey, the world white, and still we wait. Wait. It is almost here.

Pink, and oh, this is my favorite time. When hope is still bright, laughter still brimming, but only within, within. We let the quiet hold us before the hunt. 

I can feel Cherry’s ribs rise and fall, warm beneath my Dryad arm. We are ready!

The pink turns to gold. I can hear Cherry’s breath, in and out, and with every fall of his ribs a cloud escapes his nostrils. Almost,  _ almost _ , my friend.

We wait for the dawn. 

It comes. The gold top of the sun rises above the ground, and we  _ run _ . We bound forward, Cherry leading, my breathless laughter spilling in clear air, my legs swiftly crunching the snow in the forest I love so well. 

We are headed for the clearing, the Dryad-less clearing, where Cherry first discovered the fir trees this summer. It is our grove, ours to play and to know, and we rush there. Cherry is now four steps ahead. He disappears into it with a leap over the wild hedge.

“I found one!” he calls back to me, and oh, how his voice rises in excitement. I wonder which one he picked, which one he thinks is perfect. I slip through the hedge, bending back the bushes with a light hand, eagerly looking for my friend.

Which one will he have chosen—the slender one, tallest in the clearing? The full one, squat and green on every side?

Which one is a fitting choice for the Kings and Queens who made our winter joy?

“Cherry!” I call, for I do not see him, though my eyes sweep the small area where we sit and talk in the summer. Fir trees, bushes, a few saplings far too young for any Dryads, but no Stag. 

“Here, Willowblossom!” he calls from my right, and I duck under the intertwined branches and catch my breath. 

Oh, it is beautiful. Shaped like a triangle, the humans would say, but my race calls it a curtsey to the sky. I throw my head back, seeing the tip of the tree reaching for the stars and the great golden sky. It is the tallest one, my favorite. Oh, what a joy to give to the Four!

“Yes!” I agree to Cherry, and I reach up, shaking the snow off its branches. He bounds up, letting his hooves strike the snow on the other side, and we laugh as the snow falls down on us. Around and around it we dance, laughing, scattering snow on each other and on the ground. We dance and jump—and shiver from the cold!—till the tree is clear, and then we run round and round it in a circle, our feet planting a deep circle in the fallen snow. The tree is marked.

“Now run!” cries Cherry, jumping again for the hedge. He is right, and I am right behind him, for the hunt is also a race. We run, and run, and run for Cair Paravel, for only the first eighteen trees are taken, and only four from our forest. We must get there soon! There are at least thirty other hunters, and only room for four trees!

For oh, how I want my gift, my refuge, my curtsey to the stars to grace the halls of Cair Paravel this winter. And after, to go to the furnaces of the Dwarves, so they may take decorations and garlands from Cair Paravel and make them into gifts for the poorest in our kingdom and Archenland. It is an honor for any tree to serve both beauty and kindness. I want to give my Narnia what is best.

So I run! And though I do not breathe as mortals do, my limbs can only run so fast. Cherry begins to flag, stumbling, and I can run beside him now. His sides are heaving but his eye, facing me, still laughs. 

To the west! I can see another hunter running! I push myself faster, faster! Cherry sees them too, he matches me step for step. 

It is Fruitstem, the swiftest of the beeches! We will never match him! But I look at Cherry and we try, and we both know we will fall over laughing when we have the breath. Oh how Christmas gives us hope, that we run to beat Fruitstem!

We do not beat him, for we see him arrive in the courtyard while we are still lengths away. But four, there are four places for our forest, and we run still! Cherry is flagging, so I scoop him up in my arms, my wooden arms strong but slender around his large form, and run still, ignoring his sputtered protests. Who cares if they see a Deer held by a Dryad, fingers barely enclosing his stomach? Our tree may grace Cair Paravel!

And maybe, just maybe, my heart whispers, it will be  _ the _ tree. The one in the great ballroom, the greatest of the eighteen chosen, the one decorated with the most care. 

It will probably not be mine; it is too small, though not too short. But oh, how my heart whispers,  _ maybe! _

Three paces left! Two! One! The gates! We arrive in the courtyard, and I trip over a Hedgehog, falling forward as if my roots were cut. I throw my arms out, catching my long body before it falls on Cherry, and Cherry swiftly escapes from under me, bounding forward to take his place behind Fruitstem with an indignant look over his shoulder. This is not how he wanted to arrive!

I did not either, but I pause to pick up the Hedgehog in my long fingers, apologising for my haste, and his tiny laughter rings through the air as he pardons me. It is Christmas, and all is well. 

I run, halting with a laugh beside Cherry. He looks at me sideways, but he is sensible enough to tell me what he already discovered. “Fruitstem was the first, and we are the second.” I threw my head back and let my laughter fly into the sky. Second! We ran so hard, and we were second!

“Hush!” Cherry shushes. “They looked at us enough when we ran into the courtyard in that manner!” He wanted to win—he is more competitive than I am—but I think he forgot winning with me would probably not be dignified. But I let my laughter fade and glance around.

We line one side of the courtyard, and Fauns taking down the names of the hunters and the part of Narnian we come from. The Four make sure all of Narnia gets a chance to join the hunt, but I would not want to be the one bringing a tree from the Northern Mountains, and I’m a Dryad! The Fauns are cloaked, with fingerless gloves and red scarves, and we are behind Fruitstem, who is glancing behind us—I look down, for truly I had not meant to arrive spilled over both a Hedgehog and a Stag—and Fruitstem is behind a Bear and a Robin. 

I look to the side and see the High King himself standing on the steps by the doors, bent almost in half to hear what a Mouse has to say. He wears a coat and a crown, and is as beautiful in majesty as the sun itself had been that morning. I am glad he is too far away to speak with me, for truly my tongue would stumble as much as my feet had!

The courtyard is bustling with Animals of all sorts, sweeping out the snow, bringing in stands for the trees, and larger Beasts used the snow that remained to whitewash the walls. Everyone bustled in the early morning, the cheer so strong it sounded to my heart like a song to the ears. Christmas is only two weeks away!

The only group not working stood in one corner, a group of Dwarves, and they looked ready to begin a snowball fight. I might join, if they did—it would be practice for the Great Dance, though Cherry might leave if I did. But they had axes beside them, and I knew a pair would head off with us, to cut down the tree.

I felt a brief flash of sorrow, that strangers would enter the place only Cherry and I played, but it was swallowed up quickly in joy. I  _ wanted _ this, to give my best. To have my one tree be a part of the glory of all that lived here, from the High King to the pleasant Hedgehog who didn’t mind being tripped over. 

“Our turn!” Cherry nudged me, the first indignity forgotten in the second. I jerked my head around and smiled at the Faun patiently waiting before me. 

“Willowblossom from the woods twixt Archenland and Cair Paravel, with a tree perhaps an hour’s walk from here.”

“I already said that,” Cherry muttered under his breath, and I offered an apologetic smile for him. His grumpiness could not keep on the day of the hunt, and his eyes began to sparkle again. “Shall we go get our Dwarves?” he asked as the Faun wrote our names, and with another laugh, we headed off.

On the way back, he stayed a pace away, teasing me that he was scared I would grab him and pick him up again, and I laughed and pretended too, for already my feet were itching to run. The two Dwarfs I knew from the Dance, true friends of mine, and they soon joined in our laughter. When we reached the hedge I bent it back for them. Together we entered what was once a sanctuary just for Cherry and I, and together we reached the circle Cherry and I made in our running. They brought out their axes, and as they cut down the tree it was my arms that caught the tip. Between the four of us and a neighboring Boar, we brought it back, all the others complaining about my height!

It was the third tree to reach the courtyard, and already a stand was placed for it. With the help of some Centaurs and an Elephant, we set it upright, the long grey trunk holding the top perfectly still and perfectly straight while the Dwarves hammered it in. Then the Animals—and perhaps even one of the Queens—descended on it with red ribbons and silver stars, and others swept Cherry and I inside to eat and drink, to be celebrated with all the other finished hunters. 

I did not stay long; a Dryad does not eat as others do. I slipped back out to see my tree, but there were so many around it, and even running up its branches, I could not view it well. I would have to wait till the night of the Christmas Eve ball. 

* * *

Most Dryads woke for the hunt and stayed for the ball, for it celebrated both beauty and generosity, and it made even the grumpiest feel warm. I walked this time, from my tree to Cair Paravel, joining bit by bit other Narnians till we became a throng, ringing around the doors to the courtyard, calling greetings and good wishes in raised voices, waiting for the moment the doors opened. One Raven lifted his harsh voice in song, and moments later, all the Narnians nearby joined him, the song spreading out like a wave. Before the doors of our Kings and Queens we sang a hymn.

_ *On this Merry Christmas _

_ Home and heart are warm; _

_ For the firelight dances, _

_ Winter is transformed. _

_ On this Merry Christmas _

_ We give thanks and sing _

_ For the gifts we’re given, _

_ Lion and Queen and King. _

And as we sang our thanks and cheer, the doors opened.

In the rush, I could only see the tops of the trees in the courtyard, but I laughed and ran with the ones around me, through the courtyard, up the steps, spilling into the light and through the doors. Together we danced through the hallways decked in glorious colors, under the candles, and into the ballroom.

Oh, the ballroom. Garlands and garlands hung from high ceilings, berries glistened red in every corner the Birds could reach, and silver stars hung from this ceiling as well. With a quick run of strings, the musicians began playing, and the crowd divided between those that would dance, ringing round the tree that reached to the ceiling, and those that would eat at the feast spread on one side. I hurried to my place beside that towering tree.

The magic of the music of Narnia! It called heart and feet to the dance floor, laughter into motion, and sap to flow with life. But perhaps not just the music. No, the kindness and goodness of Kings and Queens and the Lion, and the joy of that in the midst of winter. All we had had and yet missed for years, now in sight and sound and taste. Oh, how I loved Christmas!

I loved the race too, however, and after many dances, I slipped out, back through the hallways, the doors, and into the courtyard. And I headed for my tree. 

There it stood, right beside the door. Red draped it, silver shown in it, and on the top a lantern glowed as brightly as a star. Oh, my best, how beautiful you look! I stepped forward and brushed a branch with my hand.

“It’s the best one in the courtyard,” said an awkward voice beside me, and I turned to see Fruitstem a full Centaur’s length away. I smiled at him, and he took a step closer.

“It is not as grand as the one inside.” 

“That one is too grand,” Fruitstem disagreed, his eyes on my former refuge. “It isn’t a friend. This one welcomes you in, just like Christmas.”

“It does,” I breathed, happy someone else saw what I did. “It did all summer, and now it will be a part of our memories and make a better home for someone.”

“Exactly.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, and I wondered why he was out here. “You run well,” he blurted out suddenly, and I laughed. 

“I tripped over a Hedgehog!”

“But you run fast, even with Cherry in your arms.” He smiled, more sure of himself now. I blushed, for I was sure that had not looked flattering, but he held one arm out. “Dance with me? By our friend?”

I gave him my arm, and we danced. And the magic and warmth of Christmas spilled from the ballroom into the courtyard, into our dance and into the trees all around that had been given by Narnians, as thanks to their Queens and Kings.

It was our best, I decided as we danced, because all the Narnians had given our best, that made this such a magical Christmas. 

OOOOO

*Sung to the tune of “Sing We Now of Christmas”


End file.
